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The Anatomy Lesson

Ann P St. Geoff P St. Jamieson S St. Aw yeah. She can suck you off while I eat out her pussy for hours. We can all suck each other. I'll do it. I drove over here, I live outside of Prague. Have you any? We can go get some, I know where to go. Meth is easiest.

The Prague Orgy Lesson Plans for Teachers | bypasecumaji.tk

Then I wanna eat your pussy. Jason, according to observers, was silent a few seconds as the words — and their meaning — sank in. Fuck both of you, you're full of shit! Through the window, the couple watched as he used a key to open a car door.

He paused, staring at the couple through the window. Finally, he displayed them his middle finger. At last Jason got in the vehicle. Fuck you! Fuck off! He squealed off into the night. It was the heartwarming story of your lovable American Losers in the Czech lands. The Americans are drinking, working numbskull jobs in corporate offices, teaching and writing and launching theatrical plays, drinking, falling in love and marrying Czech girls, getting paranoid as everything falls apart.

It was basically my life story. My kids even had a small part, because I knew Danny going back more than a decade. That part of the film was well handled, not overplayed in the slightest, letting the implications simmer in all their hilarity and brutality. Or if you stay with them.

Just keep aborting — Czech women! I sobbed and screamed. It seemed that perhaps I was the only who did. No one else seemed to get it. It seemed to have slipped right by people — the funniest, most subtle and savage part of the film. It can happen, and usually does. Look around — folks just not seeing the tricks, let alone getting the jokes. Anyway, my life story thus far, parallels for sure — except, the difference was, everybody in the movie eventually either sells out or craps out, or does nothing.

My god, man — since coming to what we called the PRG, I had risen to the top of the game. This was it — I was here, the pinnacle. The poetry was severe. Could it be any clearer? Guys around the world would kill and cream cheese their pants over what I had going on with just my left hand in Prague. Anybody who thought different was seriously confused, seriously programmed by the programming. Just listen to them try to make sense. Well, right — maybe the joke was on me. Well, no. Val shattered shortly after the party started, walking out tearfully as I disappeared into the swamp of free beer and wine.

There she went again — pulling a scene, making everything into a referendum on her feelings and demands. What was I supposed to do — go home with her simply because she requested it? Were we there already? Right after the premiere of the movie my friend had worked for 20, years to write and get produced? Go home and go to sleep — on my day off? Constant sighing would be the least of it. People — hell. Even after 11 years, her goal still seems to be to get me under claw and transform me into some nice, gentle man with my head on her shoulder, leading me around as if I were an Iraqi with an electrode on my cock and a leash around my neck.

How come no one ever knows it? If only she knew, or was capable of understanding. A man who gives up drinking against his will becomes fearful and soft, and nobody likes to be around that, though they often give lip service to how proud they are of the fellow for confessing his failure to the world.

They can smell the fear, the weakness, the horror, the defeat. Everyone cheers him on, wishes him the best. But only the weirdoes and those who love to wallow prefer to stay long. Hell if I have an answer. Try to control it, try to make the woman happy — you're likely to wind up on the dark end of the street. Better just take your lumps and hope for the best? The truth is, drinking has actually saved me, has helped more than can be said.

It has been the one reliable thing , through all the crap, the madness, lies and nightmares, the idiot relatives, the idiot know-nothing bosses, the painful and nightmarish childhood flashbacks. Where people are flakes and fakes, booze never wavers. The optimism and confidence explodes. The walls and illusions of the world dissolve, at least for the first 30 or 40 minutes. You get different, better illusions. Shining a revamped light on injustice and futility. One can get too effective.

Better to die a drunk in an honest portrayal, an authentic reflection of neglect and a misanthropic nature, a childlike heart — or is just childish? Most of them sincerely seek to embrace a logical, no-errors-in-the-thinking approach. I still remembered it, but it was getting harder and harder to remember what a jealous guy I had been All those paranoid rages if ever Val talked to some guy, or was late coming home.

As if some woman would make much of difference to my life — to whom I was getting pretty good at pretending I was. Buncha weak, know-nothing cunts. The party was beautiful, a genius collection. A very arty crowd — classy. He had just died, and everyone seemed relieved. I mentioned it to a few people. It was easier and more fun to say nice things about him now that he was dead.

I was eyed by brunettes with slashed on crimson makeup. A very nice look. Czech girls, smooth and clean, good makeup, well-cared for hair. Here they were again, lurking and slurring, the end-of-the-party girl, just for me. So much for so little. Pussy was always new and interesting, no matter how many times you saw it or whose.

It was always like the first time, and if the price was too expensive, well yes, sometimes they priced themselves out of the market. Maybe the one true miracle of life — the thing that kept men alive, when there was no real other reason to keep going. That left you with the half-reasons: Revenge and destroying your enemies. But that led only to a different type of aggravation. It was better all the way around. It was egalitarian. It was devoted to a profound purpose. It was a sweet loophole. What could go wrong? That was my type. Val had been an end-of-party girl — definitely a must-leave-the-party-with-a-guy girl.

It had worked for her. It made her big. Val had turned huge. A lot of guys had lined up, claiming they wanted to be with her. And I wound up? Cards on the table. Player and soothsayer. Sitting duck. Champion and still king. She had changed. They will do that, and they should — children, survival, Darwin, psychology books, back pain.

She had changed severely three or four years after we married. All to the good. Drunken floozies were the best, but in the end we needed someone to keep at least a bit of civilization going. We could all fuck off. The church-goers, the teachers and people who work all night in the stores, along with the bad girls and pouting sluts who suddenly want to be good mothers — we needed them.

As I was grabbing a new bottle of Radegast from the ice barrel and another wine, the movie producer, Corey Feilburger, cornered me. He tried to interest me in a vodka and Sugar-Free Blue Moose. I know life is an awful shame of futility, but this bad? She loved the movie, though. She laughed so hard. Oh my gosh, it was great. Redhead, dang. Is she a real redhead?

Total body, know what I mean? You rapscallion scoundrel! She keeps it selfishly candid, as the most courageous of her gender. It was a thrill. It was our gift to cinematic immortality. We loved every minute. Did you really? Corey could be insistent. He talked for too long. Oh, your God! I was drinking fast. They are drilling them in the head.

The blood is green. The puppets are killing everyone, stabbing and decapitating. It was an old idea. It was a dumb idea. Was that all we had left? Was that what the common communication had come down to? Yeah, I guess so.

Review & Commentary

The problem was. Just by being in Prague, see what I mean. The terms of the question were all wrong. You know? Most people have never even looked outside of their cage. They got no balls to leave it all behind. Cognitive confusion, ultimately. But I suppose it was needed for the heartwarming, insulting shtick if you want to sell it to some Hollyweird distributor who thinks he can molest you for a few bucks, leading to a full-on anal rape if there's smidgen of success.

Grab an AR and watch your points, bub! But I suppose they have plenty of ways of dealing with that. Hell, hell. He was burning too much of my time. Where was Danny? Girls were starting to leave, eyeing me sadly and wantonly as I talked to this geek. Well, hell. Opened their towns and doors to him, for free. What else did he want? It bored me. The bitching got old. It was about the last thing that mattered, though. People were sweating pigs. Enjoy your bottles of extra virgin olive oil.

Enjoy the nights holding hands and imagining things might someday be just how you want it. Enjoy the feeling that work and breathing are interminable chores. Enjoy the quite cool of the morning. Follow blindly whatever and whoever comes along pushing the pre-located buttons.

Observe uncomprehendingly as the envy, pure, blind envy, runs amok. Look long enough and everyone turns into a beady-eyed psychopath. The smug kind. Let the cruel defense of imaginary turf accelerate. Stare into the phone and feel the demons invade your amygdala. Look at everyone you know — unpleasant tendencies always emerge. Ding-dong-of-doom, baby. Poverty, war, global enslavement. Rule of the opportunist apologists. Power enforced with whips. Take you right down — no hearing, no right of appeal. Guilt by association, guilty via Internet-kinetic curiosity.

Cowardly do-nothing narcissists. One world united under subjugation. Earthquake radiation attacks that maim and murder. Working middle class to hell. Soldiers are such smashing guys. The death moans of democracy. One hundred percent lies should from bullhorns percent of the time. Death moans worldwide.

Every child alive today will spend their entire lives eating and drinking contamination. Concentrate all power in the executive, he is nice man, after all, good to drink beer, watch television and play basketball with. Turn down the radio in San Antone. Brain freeze.

Toxins in the blood and brains, breaching cellular walls. The woman, who appeared to be in her mids, was seen Saturday at about a. Correctly discerning her to be ill, a male compatriot took hold of the woman by the arm and gently guided her to a bench near the tram stop. Two other compatriots — a male and a female — also scurried over to administer assistance to the disoriented foreigner. She looked for all the world like she was going to die. Before long, she began to heave — a series of giant spasms of her bosom, which lasted perhaps half a minute. Tears began to run down her face as she struggled to regulate her breathing.

The first male, who had been trying to calm the troubled lass, gently turned her sideways, so she was facing off the end of the bench. Standing behind her, he put both hands on her shoulders in an apparent bid to steady and reassure her. She leaned forward and retched, watery streams of a light yellow, or perhaps light green, tint pouring from her mouth and splashing on to the concrete. There was very little solid matter. The regurgitating came in two waves of four or five expulsions each, separated by about six or seven seconds.

At one point, a group of teenage boys carrying nylon bags and hockey sticks stopped to watch. One of the youths smiled sheepishly and shook his head grimly, but the others had little reaction. The group soon moved on. The incident otherwise drew little attention in the slightly humid, overcast morning. At last the young lady rested, laying limp with her head against the forearms of the male standing behind her, tears drying on her face. She bore the relieved but exhausted expression of one who has survived a near-death encounter. She made sure to dispose of the soiled tissue in a small metal trashcan nearby.

But this bunch proved that a little love and kindness, indeed, can save the day. Imagine how unpleasant it would have been if she had upchucked on that gorgeous white shirt. I am thinking of the swans down at the river. It seemed destined to become just another dried human mess on the streets of the metropolis, an unsavory testament to casual excess that would exist until it would be washed away by the next rain. It was not immediately known how the tourists intended to spend the rest of their stay in Prague.

The attacker, who appeared to be in his mids, boarded the nearly empty 24 tram car around p. Immediately noticing the slumbering geezer, the assailant elected to sit in the empty seat directly in front of the tired, fetid loafer. Sunburned face, or just incredibly drunk out of his gourd. Some kind of pasty, creamy stuff, a pasty drool really, around the corners of the mouth.

Shitty grey hair, shitty grey beard. Some kind of shitty, dirty blanket around his shoulders. He had a plastic bag or two by his feet. Hell, it was after eleven. But they're going to hang around for awhile, maybe just for kicks, just for a few drinks and freak scenes. Like a ghost or something. Who knows. What's the diff? I could dig it. It went on for at least one minute. Probably hates cats, Havel, Jews, Americans, women. He had that kind of vibe. Yellow and black teeth. Horrible hair — sort of short and spiky, you know, but too long at the back?

Way too long. Dumb shit like that. And badly unshaven — or maybe he thought he was growing a beard? Anyway - ugh. The startled outcast looked up blearily, groggily struggling to comprehend what was happening. Where are you from? Look at you.